


fists of hope (unclench, bleed, die in despair)

by Kas_tiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Castiel Deserves to be Happy (Supernatural), Castiel Loves Humanity, Castiel is Not Okay (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Deserves to be Happy, Dean Winchester is Not Okay, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Guys I can’t believe the relationship tag that I put with Cas I really can’t my heart, How Do I Tag, Hurt No Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I don’t even know, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, Kinda, Multi, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, S15E18, Sam Winchester Deserves to be Happy, Sam Winchester is Not Okay, Spoilers for Episode: s15e18 Despair, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, at points, no beta we die like men, the winchesters are loved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27508504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kas_tiel/pseuds/Kas_tiel
Summary: There is something uncurling itself in Dean Winchester’s chest.(Exist, Cas, exist).It feels a lot like love.-Or, alternatively: a look into Sam and Dean’s heads amidst the Things that Happened in Despair.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 24





	1. Dean

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. Hi.
> 
> I’m gonna not ramble because there is so much I can say, such as how much my heart still hurts and how difficult this was to write, but if you guys are here then that means you’ve seen Despair and that you know.
> 
> (we are not ready, and my soul is still in pieces, and oh god, guys, they all deserved so much better).
> 
> I own none of the characters, or the show itself :)
> 
> Sam, for those who’d like the reassurance, is on chapter 2 (and how I wish I could just give him a hug, give him comfort, give him promise of a love that would last).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exist, Cas, exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't cry while writing this.
> 
> (Between you and I, the aforememtioned statement was a lie).
> 
> Lyrics at the beggining and end are from a song that, from the moment I saw That Scene from 15x18, stuck itself in my head. It’s always been Sam and Dean’s song for me, really, but seeing it in a different light, with Cas’s love canon? It is so, so applicable to Cas and Dean and I had to (because I like bringing myself to tears, apparently): 'Repeat until Death' by Novo Amour.
> 
> Italics are past scenes/Dean's direct thoughts and crow’s feet, for anyone who may not know, is what those lines- generally in older people, though not always- that wrinkle around your eyes when you smile are called. They are quite possibly my favorite thing about humans.

Don't go,

You're half of me now

But I'm hardly stood proud

I said it,

almost.

* * *

_“You changed me, Dean.”_

There is something in his chest, heavy and broken and burning, grave-scented gasoline lit like a match with the heat of gravitas and _nothing makes sense, nothing makes sense, why does nothing make sense_?

(Eyes the bluest of blue staring into his, crow's feet betraying a living, twisted, beautiful smile, testament of existence- _e_ _xist, Cas, exist-_ and tears, tears, so many tears painting life and grief into the parts of himself he forgot existed- _exist, Cas, exist; the world is burning and Chuck needs killing dead and Death is gone, Cas, in the Empty, alone and gone and Death is dead- as close to dead as Death can be, right now, because of you- so come back, Cas, you son of a bitch, you trench-coat wearing, feathered idiot, because the Empty is nothing more than nothing and you did it before so do it again, Cas, come back_ ).

Ringing, in his pocket.

Sam. Sammy, little brother with Eileen gone and wide-eyed Jack ( _oh, Christ, Jack_ ) to babysit, people blinking dead, he should answer, shouldn't he? He should answer, breathe proof of existence ( _exist, Cas, exist_ ) into phone and- and.

Nothing makes sense, right now.

Nothing did a moment ago, either.

 _"Why does this sound like a goodbye?"_ he'd asked, stupid and damned, always. Forever. Damned from his failures as a brother, father, mother, son; damned from Hell and Alistair; damned _for_ Hell and Alistair; damned for Cas (and Cas with a "crack in chassis", indeed, but for different reasons than Chuck had meant, because how could this stupid creature, this angel who had somehow lived up to the idea of angel, this rebel with a saviour complex the size of the Chrysler but only in regards to those who deserved it-

_"What's wrong?" Tilt of the head, widening of eyes the bluest of blue, "You don't think you deserve to be saved."_

\- have said what he said, have called Dean Winchester- damned, broken, burning killer- " _loving_ ", named him reason for rebellion, reason enough to be content in the being?).

 _"Why does this sound like a goodbye?"_ he'd asked, and he can still hear the answer wringing itself dry in his head, the syllables which had been doused in too much comfort, too much assent, to much _humanity_ ringing in his ears, burying themselves a grave in the tattered recesses of his mind six feet deep, as if earth could smother Cas' answer, the nod of his head, the stare and the timbre of his voice-

” _Why does this sound like a goodbye?”_

_Exist, Cas, exist._

_"Because it is."_ and damn him. Damn Cas, with his ever-present sincerity and his ever-shining eyes, the depth of truth hidden deep within them, the aching acceptance of fate he had made a point to show (and, _Jesus_ , but Dean had known that face because he'd worn it himself, before, a desperate attempt to convey love and comfort to his little brother before his deal was up, before the Darkness was killed- love, love, always a promise of love, and he'd had it and he'd given it for thirty eight years to a boy ( _man, a man now_ ) he had practically raised, and that look in Cas' eyes just before- _before_ , that profound emotion of something reflecting in them, had been so, so similar, and so, so different, and Dean cannot remember ever having felt it directed towards him, before).

( _He remembers a motel room, Sam's body out of the cage without a soul yet, somehow, voice still petulant little brother, articulating a childishly serious accusation at playing favorites, "So, what, you like him better?"_

 _Dean remembers Cas, still stoic soldier of Heaven, then, still the furthest thing from iconoclast, then, "Dean and I do share a more profound bond," a half turn, arms rising at his sides half-heartedly, no doubt a recently learned gesture, then, "I wasn't gonna mention it."_ )

Ringing, again.

Sammy, again.

Dean's breath catches in his throat, digs penance into his lungs as his chest tightens, hand moves to toss the phone to his side and _god, please_ , _please,_ his little brother is calling and people are blinking dead but _nothing makes sense, nothing makes sense_ , nothing makes sense except recent memory, except unspoken ' _please, Cas, don't mention it, don't say it, not when the world is ending and we're both near dying and not after your kindness, not after naming me what I've never known myself to be- this could only mean one thing, Cas, so please, don't mention it, not here, not near death, Cas. Not near death.'_

But he had said it, the stupid, self-righteous Angel of the very Lord Dean now sought to help kill had said it, damning himself for the already damned, and it didn't make sense, doesn't make sense, couldn’t make sense but he has to make it make sense, does he not? _It has to be made to make sense,_ the smile of sincerity which had lingered and dissapeared, the shaking voice which had betrayed the vulnerability of existence itself ( _exist, Cas, exist_ ), three words taking life and breathing life and turning the unmentioned into concrete.

Eyes, the bluest of blue, staring into his.

_It has to make sense._

Crow’s feet betraying a living, twisted, beautiful smile, ” _I love_ _you."_

_It has to be made to make sense._

_-_

There is something in Dean Winchester's chest, heavy and broken and burning, grave-scented gasoline lit like a match on the scorching backs of both despair and something other, something warmer, something which makes his hands come up to cover his own heavy ears which still ring with a declaration he could never disbelieve with a ferocity which makes his heart- and, oh, how could something meant to keep him alive hurt with such ravaging strength?- clench until there are sobs wracking his body in an unfamiliar display of grief he has neither power nor want to hold in, until he is sure the arteries and veins promising life bleed themselves open.

A moment ago, " _I love you."_

There is something uncurling itself in Dean Winchester's chest.

A moment ago, _“Goodbye, Dean.”_

It feels a lot like love.

* * *

I've been low

But, damn it, I bet it don't show

It was Heaven a moment ago

We had it, 

almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um. so. there you go??
> 
> please cry with me in the comments or, otherwise, lemme know your thoughts (did i mention my need for validation?).
> 
> stay safe, people, amd always keep fighting.


	2. Dean

_Breathe, breathe, breathe._

_Unbend knees._

_Stand._

_Breathe, breathe, breathe._

”Sammy?” Dean’s voice is weak, and it registers somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind that he sounds scared, somehow.   
  
Devastated, somehow, but not for the woman who no longer was.

( _Devastated, maybe, for Sam, for his little brother, for the one person he wouldn’t, couldn’t trade, thirty-seven years of a brother and father and mother packed into a scarred body of 6’2. Sam knows this, has therefore named Dean protector, but-_ )

“No.” and Sam is aware of the shake in his voice, the razor sharp edge of grief climbing its way out of his throat, vying for release, for acknowledgment, for choked scream and knees hitting ground and the possibility of big brother’s breath in ear _(a promise, a lie; “Okay, Sammy. It’s okay, you’re okay, bud,”) but there is no time for bleeding heart, no time for love, no time for hope; there is **no time** , can you understand?)_.

There is a world to save.

( _Mothers to save, fathers, sisters and brothers to save, friends and lovers and lovers, lovers, lovers)_. 

Knowledge in mind settled, duty draped like a makeshift balm over the cracks of his resolve, Sam speaks, Eileen’s ( _beautiful, kind, dangerous Eileen’s_ ) phone clenched in fist that shakes something awful, “ I can’t, um,” and he glances back at Dean, cannot help it, seeks the constant nature of his comfort for a split second because he will break if he has it any longer, “If I let myself go there, I’ll lose my mind; I can’t, right now.”

_Breathe._

_Breathe._

_Breathe._

A stone had toppled over ( _ **“Gotta make it stone number one, and build on it.”** He did, you see; he built on it with Cas, Jack, was building on it with Eileen- and, oh, loved Eileen, did she know? She kept him sane, kept him going, became part of the reason all hunters needed to stay fighting, became part of the reason he woke up less with memories of treacherous, glacial fire- Lucifer, indeed, burned cold- and more with dreams promising the possibility of tomorrow)_.

A stone had toppled over, and _Jesus Christ_ , Sam should have known better ( _rule number one, not everyone could be saved- not Jess, not Maddie, not Sarah, how could it have been Eileen?)_.

Sam should have known.

( _But there is a world to save, and no time for self-flagellation, no time for regret, so Sam turns around, spins words into coherence, somehow, breathes a plan into life because he has to, somehow, avoids Dean’s eyes because he has to)._

_Breathe, breathe, breathe._

”We don’t have a choice, Sam.” Dean’s eyes are heavy with resolve, with promise, with comfort, and it has to be enough for the both of them, Sam knows.

( _Eileen is dead, and Dean is walking into the gallows)_.

Desperate, terrified, Sam is not warrior but little brother as he speaks, voice laden with plea as if it means anything, as if it makes a difference, as if love isn’t destined to stand dead and they do not stand against God and Death, themselves, “Be careful.”

_Breathe._

Dean stares, nods.

_Breathe._

Dean walks over, stride purposeful and true, and his arms come around Sam, tighten in promise. Sam does not cry, simply buries his chin down into familiar shoulder and remembers, memorises the comfort being offered because he’d lose his mind, otherwise, and when Dean’s calloused hands are on his neck, tilting his head down so their eyes meet, a hollow, unspoken promise of _“You’re okay, little brother,”_ but a promise all the same offered in familiar green eyes, he does not- should not, could not, would not- speak, or promise a lie in return.

 _Breathe_.

( _Mom gone, burnt and dead, Jess gone, burnt and dead, Dean by his side- Dean always by his side- and Impala trunk slammed shut, " **We got work to do.** "_)

 _Breathe_.

They had work to do. 

_Breathe_.

(They had a world to save).

**Author's Note:**

> *hands you a baby pumpkin because we all need some sort of comfort*
> 
> Oh my gosh, I’m crying again. I’d love to hear what you thought down below, though, or just bask in pain in regards to the show together?


End file.
